You Don't Bug Me
by JellybeanChiChi
Summary: A little bit of everything -- humor, mystery, romance, UST... and no Grissoms were hurt in the development of this fic. Sara goes online and discovers more than meets the eye. Long one shot. Enjoy! Happy Valentine's Day!


You Don't Bug Me  
by JellybeanChiChi

* * *

_A/N: A little different perhaps, but I hope you enjoy. A little bit of everything: mystery, humor, romance, UST. And don't worry, no Grissoms were hurt in the making of this fic. :) This is a bit of a long one-shot, but I didn't want to have to find a place to take a break. So sit back, have a drink and enjoy! - JBCC_

* * *

Sighs of relief and feelings of accomplishment punctuated the sterile atmosphere of the Las Vegas Crime lab. The seven serial burglaries, one of which escalated to include a triple homicide, had kept all members of the swing and grave shifts busy. But tonight they discovered their needle in the haystack of evidence, and got had the two suspects dead to rights.

"I feel like taking a hot shower, changing clothes and toasting the fact those creeps are going to enjoy life in a 10 by 6 cell," Nick said. "Anyone else in?"

"First round on you?" Warrick asked.

Nick shrugged. "Sure. What the hell?"

"I'm there," Warrick said.

"Me too," Greg said. "Catherine? Care to join us, supervisor?"

"With Nick buying? Of course I'll be there."

"Cool. That would leave you, Sar. How about it?"

It had been a while since the whole gang got together after work, but Sara noticed they forgot someone, who had been in the room when Nick first announced the idea but who had quietly made an exit. "OK, sure. For a little bit."

"A little bit?" Greg asked. "Sounds like Sara's got a hot date later."

A symphony of junior high "ohhhhs" and "ahhhs" made both Catherine and Sara laugh.

"You know some of us would like to get home to take a five- or six-mile run and do some laundry..."

"Stop there, Sar. 'Run' and 'laundry' are ugly words that kill the mood," Nick said. "So, is someone gonna ask Grissom?"

"I'll do that," Catherine said. "Although he's been the invisible man after shift. Maybe he has had some hot dates lately."

The comment elicited yet another symphony of junior high "ohhhhs" and "ahhhs," then Greg started to laugh.

"What's up, Sanders?" Warrick asked.

"I just had an image of Grissom doing laundry dressed in short jogging shorts and a headband."

_Hmmm... that's kind of nice, _Sara thought.

Greg mockingly probed his forehead with his fingers. "But now, I am urgently morphing that image to be Sara doing laundry in short shorts..."

Sara walked away from her colleagues, but turned around for a second, walking backwards. "Who said I wore anything when I did laundry?"

She turned around quickly, but had enough time to see the stunned look on Greg's face. Standing still for about ten seconds, Nick smacked him on his back. The trio headed to the locker room.

"There's no way I'm using the shower stall next to his," Warrick said.

It was Catherine's idea to meet at the Big Gulp 50s diner eight miles off the strip. Yet she was the last one to slide into the booth where Warrick, Nick, Archie, Sara and Mandy sat.

"Sorry about that. Grissom needed some paperwork squared away. And it's just me, but the bugman says hello."

"What? He's too good for us?" Nick joked.

"Hey, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him agreeing to go alone to a meeting with the mayor and sheriff about these last few cases. And that would have made me buggy, for sure." Catherine waved at the waitress behind the counter, who recognized Catherine. "Hey, Thelma! Orange Nehi over here!"

"Take it like a man?" Thelma yelled back, knowing the answer.

"Hell yeah!" Catherine laughed.

"What did you order?" Sara asked.

On cue, Thelma placed an unopened bottle of orange Nehi in front of Catherine, along with a healthy shot of vodka.

"Get it now?" Catherine asked with a smile.

"And if you don't get the shot?" Sara asked.

"You take it like Radar," Thelma said as she used a bottle opener on Catherine's drink. The cap clinked right in front of Sara. "You want to try one, dear?"

"I'll take a grape Nehi... like Radar."

"I'll take one like a man," Mandy said with a booming voice

"A Purple O'Reilly and a Manly Grape — coming right up," Thelma said. "You boys want another round of beers?"

All four passed their empty bottles to Thelma and asked for another.

She returned in no time, and after she popped the tops off of both Mandy's and Sara's Nehis, Sara picked up her top and put it with the orange one she procured from Catherine.

Sara sat back and enjoyed her beverage and conversations. Since her brush with a DUI some seven months ago, she drank almost no alcohol, and, surprisingly, she didn't miss it, even after a stressful day. She found an extra couple miles on a run did wonders for her mental well-being. Plus, she never had to worry about sneaking cough drops while on the job.

* * *

Sara opened the door to her apartment after spending about two hours at the Big Gulp. Everyone else stayed to enjoy another round of drinks. After nursing a Nehi, Sara switched to water. She drank Nehi as a little girl, but she never remembered the drink being that sugary. Maybe the recipe changed.

She took the caps out of her pocket, along with a few folded pieces of paper, and put them on her desk right next to her computer keyboard, before going to change for her morning run.

Six miles and a nice hot shower later, Sara knew she should crash in her bed. She had put in about five shifts in three days. But she was still wound up and she had a secret obsession she wanted to feed.

Sara Sidle loved her high speed Internet connection. Normally a low-maintenance gal, the crime scene investigator opted to pay extra to be able to surf the Web on the fastest wave possible. She could say she needed the Internet to combat her insomnia, but that would be like saying she had to eat chocolate when she was on her period (whenever she bought tampons, a bar of Cadbury Dairy Milk would mysteriously appear in her shopping basket).

She loved surfing the Web for all kinds of different reasons. She kept a small notebook with notions and ideas that would pop up during different times of the day, and if she couldn't sleep she would look the stuff up. One time after processing a crime scene in a wooded area, she and Warrick stopped at a convenience store for snacks. After failing in her attempt to find something healthy, Sara found Warrick in front of the hot dog displaying asking for not one, but two jalapeno- and cheese-filled hot dogs.

"Warrick, those look like those things have been there for days," Sara said with concern. She glanced up at the pimply-teen attendant who gave her a slight nod of agreement.

But Warrick grabbed the dogs, took a big bite and made an exaggerated orgasmic-food face, which made Sara smile. "Sar, this is the breakfast of champions. You sure you don't want to try it?" Warrick laughed as Sara rolled her eyes.

But when she got home, Sara looked up symptoms of food poisoning and the derivation of the expression "breakfast of champions." She enjoying seeking out sayings and quote, such as stuff Grissom used, odd Texas expressions from Nick and unusual Norwiegan quips offered by Greg. She'd research lots of things that popped into her mind, such as the effects of working long hours in high heels, as Catherine did at times, which led Sara, surprisingly, to way too many porn sites.

Another time after watching Warrick slay different opponents in the breakroom with his poker skills, Sara researched the ins and outs of playing poker. She also learned how to play chess, and found a long-distance chessmate in a woman she met in a game chatroom who hailed from Mississippi.

"Rook to Knight 4," Sara said as she moved. "So how is the weather where you are?"

"Humidity's so nasty the Spanish Moss has nothing better to do then cry its eyes out. And my hair's a bundle of curls tighter than my first husband's fist around his bank account statement." Sara always loved reading the colorful metaphors her friend would type. Sara imagined her with speaking the phrases with a thick southern drawl.

"What about you, dear? How's the weather by you?"

"Hot. Dry."

"LOL. A woman of few words. Your man must appreciate that!"

Sara huffed. "Sigh. Yes, my invisible man loves it. How is that boyfriend of yours?"

And Sara would spend a good hour hearing about the trials and tribulations of the Southern Belle and her stud of a man. Oh, and play chess.

But no chess or chatting today. No, Sara wanted to stretch her cyber-investigative skills. She sat at her desk and comically cracked her knuckles in front of her and went to her homepage - Google. First off, the recipe for Nehi and whether that damn recipe changed (which it did!). But when Sara exhausted her search and hit "the history of bottle cap" sites, she thought about trying to get some sleep.

Too bad she wasn't tired. Although she was a little punchy...

"Wonder what you're name will bring up, Warrick," she said as she typed her colleague's name in quote marks. Her funniest find? A myspace page for a 15-year-old red-headed boy from Connecticut who loves gansta rap, "chicks who don't wear bras," and frozen Milky Ways because if they aren't cold, the caramel sticks to his retainer.

"OK, Nick Stokes. Can you top Gansta Brown?"

It was the fourth site that had Sara laughing so hard she couldn't keep her eyes open: "Aspiring and semi-professional adult film star and adult party planner. Let her stoke your passions - Eugene, Oregon's very own, Nicky Stokes!" Her favorite part about the site was the photo of Nicky Stokes. Her suede bikini that looked much like something Sid, one of the transvestite hookers who worked the strip, might wear, was accented by a lovely pair of cowboy boots.

By the time she trolled Nicky Stokes' very extensive Web site, which included a very educational section on proper strip tease etiquette for the stripper and the viewer, tears of laughter were streaming down Sara's face. She knew she would be doomed if Nick wore boots at work tonight.

Punchy and still reveling in her find from Nick's alleged doppleganger, Sara started on another target. At the risk of finding a similar racy Web site using Greg's name (and it actually being Greg Sanders' site) or, worse, David Hodges, Sara still longed to search for something different.

She had already searched for Gil Grissom, Gilbert Grissom, Dr. Gilbert A. Grisom and every variation available weeks ago. When she did, she found volumes of articles written by him, quoting or reviewing articles he wrote, critiquing lectures he gave and news articles that including information from him as grave shift supervisor at the lab.

And to that end, Sara also searched for nicknames he may or may not really have, such as "Bug Man," which yielded far too many exterminators who had an obvious boring sense of humor.

So where would she go from here? A voice in her head urged her to go to bed, but then her email buzzed to alert her of a new message. A smile curled on her face and she opened it.

"Hope breakfast was fun. Meeting was not. Thinking of hitting that new sushi place before shift. Interested in joining me?" Then there were a couple of empty paragraphs and a post scrip, "P.S. Why aren't you asleep? d:-)"

The ball-cap smiley face made her smile wider. Grissom. "You mean I won't be bugging you?" she wrote back.

It still surprised her that they found themselves in this comfortable friendship with one another again. When she and Grissom first met, there was a flirtatious nature to their relationship. Then, that turned tense and sour, to the point that Sara believed nothing could salvage their friendship, much less anything more.

But then what could have been the breaking point, began a turning point. Grissom offered a olive branch of peace when he drove her home, without judgment, after her "almost DUI." Later that year, when the chips were down, he stood up for her when her job was in jeopardy. And in doing so, he put his reputation and his friendship with Catherine on the line.

And that could have been it as far as their relationship went. A less-tense working relationship. But maybe opening up about her past - a risk she was willing to take - offered him the courage to open up to her. Because, fortunately, Grissom took that opportunity not to judge Sara or offer her pity, but envelop her in support and friendship.

Sara spent a lot of time thinking about it, and unconsciously she thought maybe she opened up to him to test him and their friendship. And to her surprise, he passed.

But while she felt a shift in their relationship she wondered how long it might last, especially after she told him he was more than a supervisor to her. Her answer came out of the blue one day as they walked out of a crime scene. As Sara stepped outside, she made an exaggerated yawn and then realized she still had her crime scene booties on.

Instead of stopping, she hopped on her right foot to follow Grissom to his Denali while trying to take the bootie off her left foot. Grissom stopped, smiled at her and put a hand gently upon her shoulder to hold her in place. With a mischievous smile he bent down on one knee and took off her left bootie.

Then he cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, miss, but could I have your other foot?"

She smiled down at him and presented her other leg. He took off the bootie and put it and its twin in his jacket pocket.

"Going to use those later?" She asked.

Grissom smiled and stood. "I'm hungry. Let's have pancakes."

That single invitation turned into habit where the two shared breakfast or lunch or dinner together. Sara enjoyed getting to know Grissom again. She had forgot he had an easy-going sense of humor and he was good at doing impressions of different people, including Catherine. Sometimes they made their plans to dine together at the lab or at the close of a scene. Or, like lately, on a spur of the moment phone call or email.

Like just now. And it wasn't long before Sara received a reply from her reply about going to the new sushi restaurant.

"Bugging me? Oh, I get it because I'm an entomologist. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA." The HAs went on for 17 or 18 lines, leading Sara to roll her eyes. Finally she reached the end of the HAs. "Stop rolling your eyes... Should I pick you up at 8?"

It seemed the two of them to tapered their sexual tension for one another and found what they both needed - a friendship. Sara hit the reply button. "That sounds great," she typed. "I'll see you then."

Sara stretched and stood up. It was 1 p.m. and if she went to bed now, she would be refreshed for dinner. ... Then her email binged again. She smiled.

"I'll be there. And... you don't bug me. d:)"

Sara sat down again and just looked at the email. _Was there a chance?_ Sara shook that notion away quickly. It didn't matter. Sure, she would have wanted more. But why risk what they had now when it was working again?

You don't bug me. She stared at that sentence for a while. You don't bug me.

You. Don't. Bug. Me.

Then she typed those words quickly, not even bothering with spaces or punctuation, in a Google search engine line.

Unexpectedly, something came up: "YouDontBugMe — livejournal(dot)com" Sara cocked her eyes at the find. She couldn't believe it. She knew LiveJournal was a Web site where people posted stories, musings, poetry or whatever. She didn't have an account herself, but she know that some accounts allowed only people with accounts who are invited to view the individual sites. Sara's eyes began to droop, but she still clicked on YouDontBugMe's page. It had no restrictions for entry, so after Sara clicked to confirm she was over the age of 14 and could indeed view adult content, she was in.

The writer there had a few postings. Short ones. A couple of haikus that were romantic:

_"His heart stood so strong_ _Though her faith in him faltered._ _Would love be enough?"_

_"Time served to curse him._ _She disagreed. It suited him._ _Time stilled in her midst."_

As Sara read those words she pondered how they fit in her own life. Her computer stayed on that page with the haikus. Her tired eyes then glanced at the left hand column where there was some personal information about the author. No information there, really. Just a message next to place of birth read the words, "My heart started beating in San Francisco." It made Sara smile a little. In a way, her heart started beating there, too.

She shook her head to drive off the sleepiness. _Silly. Silly thing to think about. I wonder who this writer was? Or who would write something like this._

_Silly. Silly thing to think about. _Her head felt a little heavy.

Sometimes in the midst of feeling so tired, a shot of adrenaline would shoot through Sara. She didn't feel like that happened, but it must have because she didn't even notice that her mouse had clicked on another hot link within YouDontBugMe's livejournal page. Apparently this writer wrote stories too. Sara clicked on a story where the preview read, "A story about Gus, a bookish man who longed to find love."

Sara clicked the hotlink and read:

_Gus knew he was in trouble when he saw her for the first time. After all these years, he could hardly remember what exactly he remembered first about her. Was it her hair, long and silky that could just reach the tips of her bosom? Was it her smile, bright, mischievous, and inviting of both stimulating conversation and carnal pleasures? Was it her long, tanned legs that longed to be caressed the waves of the ocean as she swam in the majesty of the Pacific?_

_What he did know was he would never be enough for her beauty, her intellect and, most importantly, her love. Sometimes pushing away someone was easier than dealing the heartache that comes from unrequited love._

_But sometimes pushing away the one you love is not an easy task either._

She read how Gus, who worked in crumpled sweaters yet always seemed crisp and clean, befriended the subject of his affection - Kara Del Rey. He worked as a researcher in which his office was a warehouse with stacks and stacks of books. He was like a version of Google when computers didn't exist. People came to him for answers, while his life was full of questions.

_"I wish I knew what to do," Gus said to himself as he looked at weathered and yellowed volume of Shakespeare's masterpieces. "If I were the Bard I would have the right words. But all I ever give her are vague notions and empty promises."_

Sara read the text with sad awareness. The words struck a chord in her. After a while, her need for sleep overtook her interest of the next chapter. She bookmarked the page for later.

* * *

Sara walked through the crime lab a bit lazily. Her work was complete; she almost felt like she worked on autopilot. She saw Greg who stood in the hallway like he was waiting for her.

"You do your laundry?" he asked before walking away. They both just exchanged smiles. Then Sara turned around and there was Greg again, with a big smile on his face. "GOTCHA!" He said as he pinched her sides. "I like this shirt."

Then he was gone. Sara looked down at her shirt. She must have been tired because she didn't even remember putting on the shirt she was wearing. It almost looked like something from college. She felt herself blush a bit, because there was no way her blouse matched her pants.

And speaking of pants, she looked up and there was Nick, dressed in jeans and cowboy boots. She snickered a bit as she passed him in the hall; he didn't even notice her. She turned to look at his back side and just imagined him walking in the halls, his bare, creamy white ass sticking out of the cheek-less jeans. She couldn't help but double over._ Man this must be the longest shift ever. I am slap happy._ With a cup of coffee in her hand she suddenly thought to her herself that she hadn't seen Warrick all day.

_Oh, there he is, _she thought as she looked in the break room. "Hey Warrick!"

"Hey girl." he called back. _Isn't his break over?_ She looked over again, and he was gone. So it must be over.

She thought about doing some more work, but knew she wasn't concentrating well. _Besides, wasn't it time to go home?_

Grissom must have heard what she was thinking because as he passed her in the hall, he said, "Go home, Sara."

So Sara left work for home. There was a certain story she wanted to catch up on her computer.

* * *

In a instant she was back inside her quiet apartment, the screen of her computer flickering as sunbeams tried to peek into her daytime blinds. She had to admit, things were getting good in the story. Kara was trying to gain the affections of Gus, and, boy, could Sara relate. Gus, despite his gentle nature, could be as stubborn as a mule and Kara could never understand if his missteps and miscues were purposely done to hurt her or done without considering her feelings at all.

There was a particular part of the story that was almost too painful for Sara to read:

_He saw she was hurting. In a daze, she still looked ravishing, but now was not the time to think like that. The fire could have engulfed her, but Gus thanked a God in heaven that she was saved from injury. Burly, young men arrived to the burnt building to aid those in need. Gus saw a man - Doug - one of Kara's many suitors, approaching her._

_Should he go to her aid before him? Gus knew he could offer Kara more than Doug could ever. Gus had degrees, read volumes upon volumes of works of science, art and literature, he studied the mysteries of the Kama Sutra and longed to worship a woman in such a way._

_No. Not a woman. One woman. The only woman. The woman in front of him, who was in pain and in need of comfort._

Sara adjusted herself in her seat and pushed the scroll bar down. The text moved down too rapidly and she lost her place. "STUPID MOUSE!" she said a loud as she tried to find her place. "WHERE IS IT?"

"OH!" Sara found portion where she left off. She quickly read the familiar text until she found new text. "...Thewomaninfrontofhim,... THERE!"

Sara read on:

_Gus walked slowly to Kara. His eyes strained to hold back his own tears as the reality of the situation unfolded before his eyes. He could have lost her. Forever. He never would have known the tenderness of her touch. He never would have felt the beating of his own heart flushed against the beating of her own heart. She never would have known that he truly, deeply, loves..._

_"Kara," Gus spoke in the most hushed tone. "Honey. Are you hurt?"_

_Kara's eyes met Gus'. Her stare was distant and her words would not leave her throat. She slowly glanced straight ahead and Gus saw a brightness shone in her eyes. Gus hoped, prayed, the light was for him. But he turned around to see Doug. And his hopes and prayers fell._

_He stepped aside to let Doug be near Kara. She looked confused, but still could say nothing. "He will take care of you, dear." Gus said, before retreating once again._

BANG! Sara's fist made a resounding noise on her desk. But before she could continue, the shrill of the phone broke Sara's concentration.

She grabbed her cell phone and looked at the caller ID, which read in big letters, "WORK."

* * *

Hard cases sometimes brought members of two shifts together. Sara sat in the layout room with Warrick, Nick (who still wore cowboy boots), Greg and Grissom. Catherine bounded in with some orange soda, but Sophia was absent. Well, it really didn't matter if she was or not, Sara thought as she tried hard not to look at the backside of Nick for fear of "Cheek-Less Jeans, Ass-Exposure Hysterical Syndrome," as she secretly called it.

"So you think Mr. Douglas was the culprit?" Catherine asked as she took a healthy chug of soda.

"You shouldn't be drinking in here, Catherine," Grissom said, leading Catherine to exit without a word.

"Witnesses say that his girlfriend sprayed painted, "U DOG!" on his car door," Greg said. "It seems like the two were not getting along very well at all."

"But apparently they had already broken up and she tried to move on to another man. But they fought about his commitment issues," Warrick said. "She told neighbors she didn't know if she could trust someone who didn't open up to her."

"Maybe he just didn't know the right words to say," Sara said. "Maybe all he ever gave her were vague notions and empty promises."

A flush of redness crept up Grissom's face. It happened so quickly, but Sara immediately noticed. "You OK?"

"What did you say?" Grissom asked.

Sara looked straight at Grissom and repeated herself. "Maybe all he ever gave her were vague notions and empty promises."

"Wow, Sar," Greg said, "that's deep and poetic. Did you make that up?"

She still looked at Grissom, who looked a bit scared under her gaze and who leveled his eyes to the floor after a few moments.

"Thanks Greg," Sara said as Warrick and Nick had left. "No, I read it."

"Oh. Cool," Greg responded, as he alone stood with Grissom and Sara, who returned to looking at one another.

"You read it." Grissom's voice was so soft, it seemed more like a confirmation, than a question.

"I think I need some coffee," Sara heard herself say.

* * *

It took no time to find a hot cup of coffee once Sara was home. What a strange, strange shift. Why did that line hit Grissom so hard? He couldn't possibly be...?

Sara stopped herself. It was silly, ridiculous. As she sat in a large, UCLA t-shirt and sweat pants playing on her computer. It seemed like days passed since the incident in the layout room. But the look on Grissom's face when she repeated that line from the story stuck to Sara like glue. To her it looked like she hadn't just regurgitated a line written on an obscure Web page; Grissom looked like she heard Sara repeat words he wrote himself.

No. _No way on Earth did he write that..._

Couldn't be.

Just a coincidence.

A stupid, unbelievably weird coincidence.

Sara tried and tried to see if there were any updates on her new favorite new story. And finally, as she sat in a "I heart San Fran" t-shirt and a pair of running shorts, Sara spied a new link to a new chapter of YouDontBugMe's Web site.

She positioned herself cross-legged on the couch with her laptop with a beer at her side. At the last minute, she went to the kitchen and dumped the beer down the sink, and then returned to the couch ready to read:

_He had made a mistake leaving her there. Why would he meekly allow another man to capture the heart and soul of his beloved without even a fight. Why didn't he fight? A sword could impale him, and she would be worth it. An arrow could pierce him, and she would be worth it. He must fight for her. For the biggest foe standing between opening his heart and offering it to Kara was one man... himself._

_Gus ran as fast as his old, tired legs could take him. He had to try. He had to fight. Even if he found her in the arms of another man, he should fight to sever that tie with another. Not to take Kara as a possession, but to all her to possess Gus' heart. His soul._

Sara stopped and ran her hands up and down her legs. "This is getting good," she said to herself. "Finally!" She continued to read. This time, she did not lose her place:

_Gus never stopped running until he came to Kara's door. His breath came out labored and heavy, but he only took a moment to calm before he pounded on the door and yelled her name over and over. He voice pained, but determined. He had to fight!_

_"PLEASE KARA! LET ME FIGHT FOR YOU!" he yelled._

_Quietly, and slowly, her door opened just a inch. Despite the tiny bit of space, Gus recognized the sliver of her brilliant eyes on the other side of the door. He kept his eyes upon her but dropped to his knees. "Kara. Please. I know what to say. I know what to do. If you open this door, I will open my heart."_

Sara let out a squeal. She could so feel for Kara at this moment.

_Kara opened the door in one swift movement. An impassive, frustrated face met that of the humbled and optimistic face of Gus, as he stayed on his knees._

_"I hate you," she said, her voice flat and lost._

_Gus stood before her, and for the first time he touched the woman he regarded as his beloved. Using both of his hands to cup her face, his voice trembled as he said, "If you truly mean that, say it once more."_

_TBC_

"TBC?" Sara screamed. "TO BE CONTINUED? YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!"

Suddenly, her phone rang and Sara answered it without moment's notice. "WHAT?"

"Sara?" It was Grissom. "Are you OK?"

"What? Yeah... I'm OK. Why?"

"You sound flustered."

"Yeah, well, I was just reading something and it just suddenly..."

"What?"

"Stopped," Sara said honestly. "And it pissed me off."

"Oh?" He sounded closer. Like he was almost in the same room. "Why is that?"

Sara walked to her front door and opened it wide. "Because I want to know how it ends."

Grissom stood on the other side of the door. and closed his phone. "Then tell me, Sara. How does it end?"

He was there. She was there. And all she could hear was her doorbell.

Over and over and over...

* * *

"SARA!" A pounding coupled with the door bell's ring. "HEY SARA!"

* * *

She opened her eyes and felt the creak in her neck before she even moved it. A bit of drool slipped down her chin and on the keyboard that seemed to be currently plastered to her face.

Sara's awareness came to her and she realized there was someone at her door. She peeled the left side of her face off the keyboard, stood up and staggered to the door, since she hadn't given her legs time to recover from sitting so long.

"OK! I'M HERE!" Sara shouted before getting to the door. She opened it wide to see Grissom there.

"Thank God," he said with a smile. "I thought maybe something happened."

Sara stood dumbstruck. _Was this some kind of deja vu?_ She looked down at her shirt. It wasn't a UCLA shirt or a "I heart San Fran" shirt, which made sense because she didn't OWN either of those t-shirts.

Grissom chuckled. "I'm sorry. I'm a little early. I must have woke you."

"Early?" Sara asked.

"For sushi. We were supposed to meet before shift for sushi."

_Oh my God,_ Sara thought. _Oh my God. I just had the weirdest dream._ "What time is it?"

"7. I'm a hour early. I thought maybe you would be up and tapping away at the computer. Looks like I got part of that right?"

"What do you mean?"

Grissom brushed the back of his right hand upon the indentations made by the keyboard on Sara's left cheek. The action made them both blush. "I see you used your keyboard as a pillow."

His hand stayed there a little longer than necessary, but neither said anything. When he did pulled his hand away, Sara smiled and gestured him to come in. She returned back to where her computer was and looked at the page where she left off.

YouDontBugMe's livejournal page. Still there. Still on the page with the hiakus. No story about Kara and Gus anywhere. Sara never even bookmarked like she thought.

"Were you reading someone's poetry," Grissom said, startling her as he stood behind him.

"Umm... yeah. I was," Sara said as she put her hands in her back pocket. "Hey Grissom, you write poetry and prose, right?"

"At times," he said, reading the text on the page. "But I prefer to leave my musings in a journal at home."

"That's probably a good idea," Sara said as she turned off her computer.

"Did you sleep at all?" his voice reflected gentle concern

"Apparently, just not in my bed," Sara said.

He arched an eyebrow at her. "We can do this some other time. You need some sleep."

"No, actually, I'm OK, Griss. I slept. Had THE most bizarre dream you can imagine, but... yeah, I'm good."

His hands were tucked in the pockets of his slacks. "OK."

"But I need to shower."

"Do you need help with that?" He said the statement quickly and just a tad louder than under his breath, but her incredulous stare was simply met by a shy, mischievous smile and a comical turn away.

"I think I'll be fine, bugman. Make yourself at home."

She walked to her bedroom to retrieve some clothes, then went to the bathroom. But she stole a peek to see what Grissom was doing. He seemed perfectly at home watching a basketball game on her television. The domestic moment struck a chord in her heart. Then another thought hit her.

"Gus. Why did I think Gus?" she muttered to herself and then looked down in defeat._ Gus Grissom? Really, Sidle, he would have been more creative than that._

She laughed as she removed her clothes and adjusted the temperature of the spray for a well-deserved shower.

* * *

Sara came out of the bathroom refreshed and ready to go. She even had a bounce in her step. When she came into the living room, Grissom greeted her with a smile. He looked like he was truly happy to see her. The basketball game was still on the television, but it must not have kept his attention because he was absentmindedly shuffling her deck of cards and he played a game of solitaire while waiting for her.

While she was ready to go, she didn't want to abandon the feeling of having this man so comfortably inhabiting her apartment. "How about a few hands of gin before dinner?"

"Penny a point?"

"Bring it on."

After three 100 point games, both of their stomachs rumbled, so they headed for the sushi place. Grissom opened the passenger door of his Mercedes for Sara and then they drove about 15 minutes to their destination. The two of them were laughing as Grissom parked the car, and he was able to get out and open Sara's door before she could do it for herself. They continued their friendly banter, and Sara felt Grissom's hand barely pressed upon her lower back, when his phone rang. They walked side-by-side as he took the call.

But then Sara noticed she was about four steps in front of Grissom, who had stopped dead in his tracks. His look of joviality dissipated as she noticed the blood had drained from Grissom's face. She took her steps towards him slowly, reaching him just as he hung up his phone.

She looked at him and her look of fear and concern was matched in his eyes. Without a word, they went back to the Mercedes, both them flinging open their doors for themselves. As they buckled in, Grissom said, "Nick's been kidnapped."

Sara felt her world had stopped for a moment. Then she felt the car jerk in reverse, put into drive and speed away.

"Drive faster," Sara said.

And Grissom did.

* * *

Fueled by adrenaline and emotional upheaval, the conclusion of the events that lead to Nick's kidnapping and brush with death left the swing and graveyard shifts numb. While Warrick and Catherine kept vigil for Nick at the hospital, Greg, Grissom and Sara picked up the pieces left behind. They stood side by side, but felt isolated from one another as they worked. Once back at the lab, the trio seemed to split up. Greg went immediately to the shower, Grissom to his office and Sara to wander the halls.

She finally ended up in the locker room, long after Greg had gone. She debated what to do next until she heard a low voice behind her. "My guest room has a good-size shower," Grissom said. "You're welcome to it. It offers more privacy and ... when you get out, breakfast will be there for you."

Sara looked in her locker.

"No pressure. I know your car's not here," Grissom said. "I just... didn't want to be alone and ... I didn't want you to... have to take a cab."

Sara grabbed some things and put them in a gym bag. She closed her locker and turned to him. "You don't mind?"

"You won't be bugging me," he said attempting to lighten the mood.

She offered a sad smile. "OK. Let's go."

They drove to Grissom's townhouse in silence. They both seemed tired and withdrawn, which was understandable. Grissom opened the door to his place and let Sara enter first and then put down his keys with a sigh.

"Come on, I'll show you to the guest room," he said, an air of resignation and melancholy surrounded him.

She went inside the room that had an adjoining bath, slightly bigger than her own. Although it didn't have a tub, it had a nice size vanity and a walk-in shower stall with a sliding glass door. She put her bag down and stood up to see Grissom in front of her with three towels in his hand. He handed it to her and then made an exit, closing the door to the bedroom behind him.

After she took a long shower, Sara wandered from the bathroom to the guest room dressed but still drying her hair. It was small, but functional. It even had a small desk, which had some books and papers upon it. She felt drawn to it, even though part of her thought that maybe Grissom did his bills there and she had no business looking at that stuff.

But there were no bills on the desk. Instead laid a stack of literature books and a couple of what Sara thought might be journals.

Now she truly felt she had no business being near the desk. Yet, she still felt drawn to them, and noticed one closed journal had a pen protruding from a page. She gently pried it open at that spot and immediately recognized Grissom's scrawl. She picked up the pen, which in and of itself reflected Grissom - a vintage Cross ballpoint that he might have had since college or high school. She smiled and put it back in its place.

She truly was going to close the book. But her eye caught site of a few words on the page, and she was struck helpless:

**_Sultry_ **_  
I long to cradle her curves with the palms of my hands, but it is her mind that leaves me breathless._

**_Smokey_ **_  
Her eyes offer a depth I cannot touch for my emotional strength cannot pry open the fissure in my heart._

**_Succulent_ **_  
Too rich is her essence, too unworthy is my soul._

**_Sacrifice_ **_  
She is an altar with which to worship, yet my failings leave me old, wasted, tormented, dishonorable._

**_Sadness_ **_  
She without my undying, uncompromising, unconditional love. Me without her presence and promise._

She touched the corner of the page as she read the words again. She heard the soft knock on the door and unconsciously said, "Come in."

Grissom opened the door just a bit. "I just wanted to tell you that the sheets on the bed are clean if you'd like to rest or I can make you something to eat..."

She just couldn't tear her eyes away from that journal. The time had come. Seeking an answer became paramount. "Grissom, come inside."

Grissom looked confused but opened the door fully and entered. He saw where Sara stood, and he knew what was on that desk. A distant part of his brain told him to scold her, let anger overtake him because she had violated his privacy looking at those books. But the logical part of his brain, and more importantly his heart, silenced the inclination. Grissom knew what was upon that desk when he brought in the towels.

While he spent a silent moment or two pondering how to react to the situation, Sara turned to him, but stayed rooted in her spot. "Were you thinking about me when you wrote this?"

Although his natural reaction was to look down at the floor, Grissom couldn't stop looking at her. He crossed the distance between them and spoke honestly. "Sometimes you are all I think about."

"You ... could have died last night," Sara said, her voice trailing off.

Grissom crossed the space between them. "Don't think about that..."

She wouldn't let him continue. "If you had, I might have found this, but I never would have been able to ask if it was me you thought of."

Grissom released the breath he held. "Yes, Sara. I wrote that when I thought of you."

She looked up at him, her eyes uncertain, threatening to release the tears beginning to pool there. But she gathered her courage and took a deep breath. "Will you help me?"

"How?"

"The sadness... I don't want to feel that anymore."

"Neither do I," Grissom said before he desperately reached for her, gathered her into his arms and kissed her with the intensity and fire of a man seeking the essence that keeps him alive. His hands moved up and down her back, but then he brought them up to cup her face. He drew back from the kiss to look at her. His thumb gently rubbed a tear from her eye, and he struggled to control his own tears. He wanted to say something, but, at that moment, words would not be enough, so he revealed his adoration and desire for Sara through his devotional touches and passionate kisses.

They silently stripped each other of their clothes and continued their loving assault of one another. Sara pulled away from him, and his thoughts betrayed him, he thought she was leaving instead she crawled onto the bed and with her hand outstretched, beckoned him to her. He started to get on the bed, but he stopped to gaze upon the nude woman before him. Never before had he allowed himself the luxury to experience her fully with all his senses. The sight of her naked and wanton and clearly aroused as she lay upon his bed; the way her voice sounded as she moaned his name; the feel of her body under the pads of his fingertips; the smell of her arousal; the taste of her skin. She was utterly intoxicating.

As he stood at the foot of the bed, all Grissom could think about was how he wanted more - to explore her more; to adore her more; to love her more.

He opened up the covers, and invited her to slip beneath them, and quickly joined her. "Thank you," he said.

Sara sighed. She knew she loved Grissom, but as their bodies became one in the most intimate and erotic way, she knew her soul belonged to Grissom.

And that his soul belonged to her.

FIVE YEARS LATER

Sara couldn't possibly drink another cup of coffee. She felt jittery from the five cups she had during her shift, which spilled over to include seven hours of overtime. "I must be getting old," she said to herself. "I used to drink Greg under the table with lattes."

She drove home and went through her routine of putting her keys in a basket on the counter and taking off her shoes before entering the living room. She set a few things by her laptop at her desk, which she turned on, then went to the bedroom to get ready for a run.

Six miles later, she returned home just before the sun dipped below the horizon, grabbed a water and took a seat at the laptop. Wearing one of her husband's old UCLA shirts, she checked her e-mail, and smiled when she saw a message from him:

Call me when you get in. - Me :-)

_That silly ball cap smiley, _Sara thought. She wondered if he was wearing a ball cap in Paris and immediately dialed his number to find out. But then she grimaced when she thought about what time it is.

"Hello?" came the groggy answer to the call.

"I'm sorry, Gil. I forgot about the time difference... again."

"It's OK," he replied.

"I'm always bugging you like that," Sara said.

"You don't bug me, honey. I love you."

Sara's heart swelled upon hearing those two phrases. One familiar, comforting. The other, timeless.

**THE END**

_A/N: First an explanation, I really wanted Grissom's email signature to be an "at" symbol smiley face (which is for curly hair). But like my wonderful beta reminded me, fanfiction dot net doesn't like symbols and it wouldn't show up, hence the smiley with the ball cap. It was a compromise._  
_I wrote this story because there were a few people who said they missed my writing, and that humbled me immensely (and continues to humble me). And then I had two wonderful betas – MSCSIFANGSR and ELM22 – who took this story and gave it wings.  
So to Carol and Esther, Jocelyn, Sylvie, Flo, Kathy and all those who offer me such kind words, thank you. This is all for your guys.  
And to all readers and writers of fanfiction and livejournal, thanks for letting me be a part of your community. It's a lot of fun here._


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